In Prometheus, Reaching for God

Michael Fassbender in Ridley Scott’s film Prometheus.
(Twentieth Century Fox)

Prometheus, Ridley Scott’s prequel of sorts to the hallowed Alien franchise, opened this weekend. For the people who care—enough of them to give the film a $50 million opening weekend—this was an occasion for midnight screenings followed by furious discussions of the plot’s dense theological and psychoanalytical threads. For the people who don’t, all this deep space angst was hooey. And they, apparently, were in the majority: Most movie-going Americans this weekend rejected Scott’s cerebral and grim epic for the colorful joys of Madagascar 3.

We, then, may be through with Prometheus. But Prometheus isn’t through with us. It may have its share of creepy, oozy, alien tendrils, but what the film really grasps for is nothing less than the meaning of life and the limits of faith. Without giving too much away, it begins with two scientists in the not-so-distant future discovering what they believe to be the source of mankind’s creation. We, the two believe, owe our existence to extraterrestrials who fashioned us in their image; armed with what appears to be a map to the creators’ home planet, the scientists gather a crew of space cowboys to go and pay our gods a visit. Hey, what could ever go wrong?

There’s no way of discussing the film’s intricacies without giving away many of its pleasures; Talmudic councils of film-school nerds will, I suspect, spend many Red Bull-addled nights mirthlessly parsing its every frame. But there is a much larger lesson to be learned from Scott’s masterwork, and it has to do with the intricate links between gods and machines.

It’s not, of course, a new story. The Israelites, huddled at the foot of the mountain waiting for Moses to descend, were given their divine laws via a piece of equipment: two tablets. Later, erring in the wilderness, they were told to construct another, the Ark of the Covenant. Muslims have the Kaaba, the black-draped cube in Mecca they believe was built by Abraham and toward which they face in prayer. And Christianity has sanctified its share of relics, from the Holy Lance to the True Cross. Whenever we turn to God, it seems, we need some sort of technology to guide us along in the right direction.

Like every great science-fiction film, Prometheus understands this point well. The appeal of the genre, after all, has much to do with overcoming the strictures placed on us by virtue of being mere mortals. If we can’t warp time or control space or command our own destinies, the least we can do to make ourselves feel good is imagine some nifty gadgets that give us godlike powers. Cryogenic suspension chambers? Downloadable memories? Holographic decks? Welcome aboard Scott’s spaceship.

If you’ve seen even one science-fiction film, you know that the dream of progress always turns into some monstrous nightmare. And if you haven’t, you could imagine that by naming his spaceship (and his movie) after the Titan who molded man from clay, stole fire from the gods for humanity’s benefit, and was punished by having a peckish eagle perpetually nibble on his liver, Scott is trying to tell us that overestimating our powers and trying to understand and control what is beyond our reach is never a bright idea.

But can we ever stop? You don’t have to be a charitable, mythical giant or a hard-bodied, alien-ass-kicking, brilliant scientist to feel the temptations and the frustrations of succumbing to technology’s promises. Every time we buy some new gizmo, we expect it not only to work but to work flawlessly and, frequently, to transcend the limitations of the possible and the reasonable. How many times have we muttered that Siri, say, is dumb because she failed to understand the poorly phrased question hidden within our minutes-long drunken rant? Or insisted that there really should be a Google-like service that would enable us to point our camera phones at complete strangers and have a comprehensive report about their lives pop up on our screen? Often we aren’t satisfied with mere technological progress. What we want is magic.

It’s not our fault. From its outset, technology was created to serve as a conduit for some higher order of knowing. God, after all, is omnipresent and disembodied and as such hardly needs an ark or a spear or two stone plates to carry his essence. But he knows us, his creations, and he knows that despite realizing that we’ll never be able to grasp what he’s all about, we’ll never stop trying. What we need, then, is something concrete, a tool we imagine could show us the way to heaven and open its gates.

Herein lies the genius of Prometheus. The movie isn’t without its flaws, from a few preposterous casting choices to an overload of meaning forced onto even the most meager of plot lines. But it realizes that a spaceship is never just a spaceship, and that every bit of sophisticated technology is really just a telescope we’ve built in a futile effort to see the face of God. It won’t spoil the film’s ending to say that the crew of the Prometheus catches a glimpse of that face, and that the face isn’t exactly that of a kindly old grandfather. It’s still a Ridley Scott movie; for a refresher on the director’s view of the world, see Blade Runner. But Scott, unlike his enterprising characters but like all good theologians, understands that the destination hardly matters and that when you’re bound to spend an eternity lost in space, you might as well try and enjoy the ride and make sure your ship is as good as they get.

***

Like this article? Sign up for our Daily Digest to get Tablet Magazine’s new content in your inbox each morning.

WAIT, WHY DO I HAVE TO PAY TO COMMENT?
Tablet is committed to bringing you the best, smartest, most enlightening and entertaining reporting and writing on Jewish life, all free of charge. We take pride in our community of readers, and are thrilled that you choose to engage with us in a way that is both thoughtful and thought-provoking. But the Internet, for all of its wonders, poses challenges to civilized and constructive discussion, allowing vocal—and, often, anonymous—minorities to drag it down with invective (and worse). Starting today, then, we are asking people who'd like to post comments on the site to pay a nominal fee—less a paywall than a gesture of your own commitment to the cause of great conversation. All proceeds go to helping us bring you the ambitious journalism that brought you here in the first place.

I NEED TO BE HEARD! BUT I DONT WANT TO PAY.
Readers can still interact with us free of charge via Facebook, Twitter, and our other social media channels, or write to us at letters@tabletmag.com. Each week, we’ll select the best letters and publish them in a new letters to the editor feature on the Scroll.

We hope this new largely symbolic measure will help us create a more pleasant and cultivated environment for all of our readers, and, as always, we thank you deeply for your support.

There are two views of creation. In the Middle East, the view is that the earth is dead and spirit comes from without. From Genesis 2:7: “And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”

I think today we, for the most part, think of this as an immature view.

In the East, the notion is that humans are natural creatures, and spirit is in all things. Thus spirit does not come from without, but is an integral part of both humans and nature.

This second view of creation provides far less material for a dramatic filmic plot line; something like the special effects in the movie, The Tree of Life—visually spectacular, from single cell organisms to dinosaurs and all, but little dramatic tension.

The first view of creation, which sees it coming from outside is, of course, rich with dramatic possibility, the possibility of our meeting up with the outside existence that created us.

The alternative to creation from the outside is… it’s just us. We are here alone. We alone have brought ourselves to where we are, we alone have to make sense of our existence in the grand sense, and of our individual lives. And we alone have to create what we are going to do and going to become next. Too scary for many. And a lot more difficult as a basis for drama.

More on my blog, Cinemadiscourse.com

Name (required)Email (required, will not be published)Website (optional)

Message

2000

Your comment may be no longer than 2,000 characters, approximately 400 words. HTML tags are not permitted, nor are more than two URLs per comment. We reserve the right to delete inappropriate comments.